


Virulent Desire

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, tropey goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: A virus runs roughshod through Voyager, felling everyone in its path! Will our intrepid heroes survive... with their hearts intact?





	1. Tom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Klingon Sitting](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/487099) by Cerise. 



> 20-odd years ago, when I was a new mom of very young children I leapt into Voyager fanfic. I knew the smutty stuff existed from tales from older Trek pals of fanzines of Kirk’s exploits. When I found the ASC and Cerise’s P/T stories, my eyes were opened! (She may be responsible for the creation of my youngest child...)
> 
> I gobbled up her stuff then, and it was hot and titilating, though I’m not sure how well it stands up to today’s sensibilities. I’ve wanted to tackle this old stand by for ages, but didn’t because it’s been done. Out of the blue, a couple of pals suggested I give it a whirl and after saying, no no, I couldn’t, I did. I also said I couldn’t possibly post it, but... Apparently I’m a sucker for flattery.
> 
> This version of the classic hurt/comfort/smut is inspired by Cerise’s story. There are a few other tropes in here too, if you look. It’s a oneshot, mostly, written over four days last week, maybe a solid 24hrs of writing? It’s not betaed, so beware. And the medical stuff is likely bupkus. 
> 
> I’ve tried to email Cerise but no luck, shrug.

Set after Dislaced. 

*****

The stars streaked by as _Voyager_ sailed through space at warp five. Points of light were pulled, stretched, blurring as if _Voyager_ were falling down a vast tunnel. Which, in a way, they were. Tom’s eyes watered, the dots of light on velvet black wavering and undulating. He blinked, and they came into sharp focus again. He glanced down at his display, checking the readings from the long-range sensors. It took his eyes a moment longer than he would have liked to adjust to the change in focal point. He closed them, opened them again, blew a breath. 

“Is there a problem, Mister Paris?”

Chakotay’s voice sounded gruff, and Tom sat up a little straighter, steeling his spine and rolling his shoulders up and back to ease the tension in his rib cage. He’d been slouching over the helm. “No, sir,” Tom said. 

A virus had made its way through the human contingent of the crew, picked up on an uninhabited planet where they’d stopped for provisions, something the biofilters in the transporter had failed to detect and filter out. Tom, a member of the scouting party, had caught it early and had been knocked on his ass. He’d been a prisoner of sickbay and the doctor’s tender care before being unceremoniously shunted to his quarters two days later. Once the virus took hold, it ran through the ship felling crewmen and captains alike. He’d spent another three days in bed, weak as a kitten, with Neelix as his nursemaid. A better incentive to wellness Tom couldn’t imagine. 

Two weeks on it was starting to peter out, the last patient having been released to quarters this morning. And, a week on from his own illness, Tom was just starting to feel like he had his strength back. Or rather, he might be if morning hadn’t been twelve hours ago. He didn’t think the virus had circled back around to him—the doctor was sure that once you caught it you were immune—he was likely just tired from his long day at the helm. 

He’d had incredibly vivid dreams while he was sick, the colours and sounds so bright and real that, upon waking, he’d been convinced that he’d actually lived his experiences. But unless he could fly through space without an EVA suit, or they were at war with the Klingon Empire and B’Elanna was actually a secret agent for the KDF who danced the flamenco while performing a strip tease, he was pretty sure he’d been dreaming. His hard-on had been all too real though. 

“Three more hours, Tom, then we’ll both be relieved.” 

Tom smirked. He doubted it; the chances of that happening weren’t very high. He turned in his chair and looked at Chakotay. His hair was mussed and his uniform rumpled. He looked as tired at Tom felt. “I’m fine, sir, but—

The ship shuddered and Tom jerked back around toward his console, a sudden rush of adrenaline giving his fuzzy brain a jolt of clarity. The stars had stopped streaking on the viewscreen. Alarms lit up Tom’s helm. “We’ve dropped out of warp,” he said.

“I can see that. Why?”

Tom shook his head, his fingers tapping at the screen. “I’m reading a cascade failure in the magnetic constrictors.”

Harry, the only human so far who hadn’t been sick, chimed in. “Power drain on decks ten through thirteen, life support is out on decks seven through nine.”

“What’s the good news?” Chakotay muttered.

“We still have gravity,” Tom quipped. For now. 

“Thrusters?”

“No, sir. We’re at a dead stop.”

“Damn. Bridge to engineering.”

There was pause, then B’Elanna’s voice came through the comm, sounding impatient. “ _I’m on it, Chakotay. Stand by_.”

She didn’t cut the signal, and they could hear the hiss of escaping vapor and the sounds of people moving rapidly back and forth, their booted feet slapping against the deck. B’Elanna shouted orders over the noise. 

As well as harbouring that damned virus, the planet they’d recently visited had been part of a trinary system that had emitted a low dose stream of Eichner radiation. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem for a regular ‘fleet vessel or her crew, but apparently _Voyager’s_ gel packs were sensitive to it and had been affected. Unlike her human passengers, _Voyager’s_ ‘cold’ had taken several days to develop. It had started with small things: turbolifts not responding to commands or going to the wrong deck, doors not opening. In one memorable incident, the gravity had cut out on the bridge and they’d found themselves floating. The situation had rapidly escalated to a complete failure of the replicators, then the holodecks had gone on the fritz. Luckily, the Doctor had been in the briefing room at the time reporting on the crew’s illness, his programme downloaded to the mobile emitter. He’d kept his programme there, not trusting the holo emitters even after the ones in sickbay had been been thoroughly checked by B’Elanna herself. He’d put his faith in 29th century technology instead. 

“ _Chell, lock down those constrictors_.” Tom heard B’Elanna hollering over the noise of a very unhappy warp core. “ _Vorik, I told you to keep that pattern below 300_.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. Ever since Vorik had swooped in and snatched B’Elanna away from under Tom’s nose at the luau, he’d been brewing a low level dislike of the seemingly tranquil ensign. Then, after _the incident which will never be discussed_ on Sikari IV, Tom’s dislike had turned into an active animosity. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t yell at him enough.

Chakotay finally ran out of patience. “Torres, what’s going on down there?”

“ _Tabor, help me with this_.” 

Chakotay huffed his impatience. “B’Elan—”

“ _Damnit, Chakotay, give me a minute!_ ”

Tom raised an eyebrow, a counterpoint to Chakotay’s scowl. If he really could survive in the vacuum of space, he’d offer to get out and push. 

“ _Okay, I… I think I… we…_ ” 

B’Elanna’s voice faded, and Tom waited. He shot a glance at Harry, who shrugged. He looked down at his display, then back at Tom and shook his head. 

“ _I jus’ nee…_ ” They heard a muffled _fwuump_ , and a jarringly loud _thump_! Tom’s head jerked back toward Chakotay.

“B’Elanna?” Chakotay stood and tapped his combadge again. “Chakotay to Lieutenant Torres.” Nothing. “Chakotay to engineering.”

This time, the reply was prompt. “ _Ensign Vorik here, Commander_.”

“Vorik? What the hell’s going on down there?”

“ _The phase variance in plasma conduit three has been corrected. We should have warp power in moments, Commander_.”

“Good. Where’s Torres?”

“ _Lieutenant Torres is unconscious, sir_.” 

“What?!”

“ _She has fainted, sir_.”

“Fainted?” Tom said. Klingons didn’t faint, did they? He tried to imagine the big brute in the Klingon workout programme he and B’Elanna had been using swooning. It was a leap of the imagination. 

“Was she injured?”

It was like pulling teeth, Tom thought. 

“ _I do not know, sir. She is unconscious. Ensign Tabor is rendering assistance_.”

“Well, transport her to sickbay,” Chakotay growled. 

“ _I cannot, sir. Transporters are down_.” There was a distinct popping sound and a _hiss. “Injector coils are misaligned. It is my suggestion that we shut down the warp core, sir_.”

Chakotay muttered a curse under his breath. It could take days to repair the coils and restart the core. “Do it,” he ordered. “And get Lieutenant Torres to sickbay.”

“ _As soon as the situation has—_ ” There was another loud bang and a pop. 

“I’ll go,” Tom said, rising from his chair. At Chakotay’s scowl, he pressed. “I can’t fly while we’re stuck in space, and I am a trained medic,” he reminded him. 

Chakotay nodded tiredly. “Go.”

Tom bolted for the ‘lift. 

*

At least the turbolifts were working. The corridor was darkened, illuminated only by emergency lighting. The doors to engineering slid open jerkily as he approached them, and he was immediately assaulted by the sounds of an engine room in turmoil. There was tang of coolant in the air, and the hiss of leaking vapour was louder now. Conduit wiring had been pulled from behind open panels and sparked in the open air, sending showers of electroplasma toward the deck.

Tom glanced around, spying Tabor. “Where’s B’Elanna?” he asked when he reached him. Maybe she was already back on her feet? 

“In her office.” Tabor was busy pulling gold isolinear chips from a tray and replacing them with blue. “She’s breathing. Excuse me.” He swung around to the other side of the console, and Tom backed out of his way. 

Breathing?! He hoped to hell she was fucking breathing! “Is anyone with… nevermind.”

Most of engineering was human, and aside from a wobbly-looking Nicoletti the only people on deck Tom could see were not. They were horribly understaffed, and it looked like the department was about to combust. They didn’t have anyone to spare to hold her hand, he understood that, but anger licked at the edges of his temper anyway. 

He turned to his right and headed toward her office, hoping to see her sitting in her chair and barking orders into her combage. She was lying on the floor with her jacket pillowed under her head. 

“B’Elanna!” 

He rushed toward her and felt her throat for a pulse. It was steady, but weak, and Tom noticed a five centimetre-long gash on her forehead. She must have hit her head when she fell. Carefully, he slid his arms under her shoulders and knees then lifted her. She was heavier than she looked, and he pitched forward, off balanced by his awkward position crouching on her office floor. He got to his feet with a grunt, and shifted her upper body so her head rolled against his shoulder. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyelashes cast spiky shadows on her cheek. He rested his cheek on her forehead—to secure her head in place, of course—and carried her through main engineering and out into the corridor, heading for sickbay. He hoped to hell the lifts kept working. 

*

Sickbay resembled engineering in one way: controlled chaos. Kes looked up at the sound of the doors opening, and her eyes went wide when she recognized B’Elanna in his arms. “Put her over here,” she instructed. “Doctor, it’s Lieutenant Torres.”

Tom placed her on the diagnostic bed and activated the arch. He was smoothing her hair away from the cut on her forehead as the Doctor arrived at her side, already moving the tricorder wand up her body. 

“She hit her head, Doc,” Tom said. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing in his ears, and he wasn’t certain it was just due to the exertion of carrying her up seven decks. He was afraid she was badly hurt. She was warm, too warm, with beads of perspiration dotting her hairline and upper lip. Her skin felt clammy. Or maybe that was his hands. 

“Yes, I see that. Hmm…”

“What is it?”

The Doctor heaved a sigh. “I’m reading signs of that virus. How long has she been feeling ill?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you take a history?”

Tom chuffed in frustration. “She’s been unconscious since I got to her.”

“No signs of burns or other trauma. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was on the bridge. She was talking to Chakotay over the comm and then she just… fainted. I guess.”

“You guess? Did she lose consciousness and then fall, or did the fall cause her to hit her head and lose consciousness?”

What the fuck difference did it make?! “Vorik said she fainted.”

“Thank you. Give me 10 cc’s of triox compound.” 

Tom stood there a moment, waiting for Kes, who was somewhere on the other side of sickbay, to reappear with a hypospray. The Doctor stared at him. 

“Unless you’ve forgotten all of your medical training?”

Tom started and reached for the hypospray, then located the correct ampule and fitted it in place. He calibrated the hypo and handed it to the Doctor. “That should help to oxygenate her blood. Five cc's 3% hydrocortilene. Now, Mister Paris.”

What the hell was wrong with him? His hands were shaking. He took the hypospray, switched out its cylinder and offered it to the doctor. 

“Go ahead.” The Doc was busy scanning her scalp and head. 

The bleeding had slowed to an ooze, the dark red blood clotting and drying on her forehead. Tom lifted her hair away from her neck and pressed the hypospray to her skin. Her body appeared to relax as soon as the analgesic entered her system. He breathed a sigh. The Doctor handed him a dermal regenerator. 

“Here. Stitch her wound, then clean her up. I’ll be right back.”

Tom waved the wand over her forehead in slow, even strokes, just as he’d been taught, and watched as the cut on her forehead closed as if by magic. He checked the reading on the medical tricorder and, assured that the wound was fully knitted and wouldn’t scar, he placed both instruments aside on a tray. B’Elanna hadn’t woken. 

Tom crossed to a sink and grabbed a towel, moistening one corner under the tap. He rubbed it gently across her forehead, between her cranial ridges, leaving a smear of blood. Her hand clamped onto his wrist and he jumped with a gasp! Her eyes were glassy, wild, her gaze shifting from his face to the ceiling to the other side of the room. She gripped his arm with surprising strength. 

“Where am I?”

Tom took the cloth with his other hand and dropped it on the tray then gripped her shoulder, pressing her back against the biobed. “In sickbay. You fainted in main engineering.” He had a sudden, vivid mental picture of her falling off the upper deck and crashing onto the floor below. That hadn’t happened. He pushed it from his mind. 

Her eyes stopped roving around the room and zeroed in on him, her eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. “Klingons don’t faint.”

“You did,” he said. “You were right in the middle of cursing out Chakotay.”

“I was?”

Tom smiled. 

“Ah, I see you're awake. Congratulations, Mister Paris, your patient will live.” He pressed a button on the bed’s controls and the arch slid out of view.

B’Elanna’s mouth twisted and she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” the Doctor agreed. “You can go now.”

“Doc!” Tom swung toward the Doctor about to protest while B’Elanna started to struggle up from the bed. Her fingers dug into his wrist and she groaned and lay back down. 

“You have the virus, Lieutenant. You need to take it easy.”

“What? You said my Klingon genes would protect me.”

“I said they might protect you,” the Doctor reminded her, “if you took it easy and got lots of rest. When was the last time you slept?”

“Umm…” 

She glanced at Tom and he shrugged. How was he supposed to know?

“Yesterday?” 

“Are you guessing or are you sure?”

“Yesterday.” Her voice had taken on a note of irritation.

“And did you get a full night’s sleep?”

She mumbled something that Tom couldn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I said, not quite,” she gritted.

“How long did you sleep? Six hours? Four?”

“I had a nap in my office.” The Doctor sighed heavily, his disgust with her obvious. “I slept for a few hours the night before.” Her tone had become defensive. “The ship is falling apart and two-thirds of my crew is still out sick—”

“And now so are you,” the Doctor snipped.

“I feel fine.”

“That’s because I’ve loaded your system with pain suppressant and oxygenated your blood. Trust me, in a few hours you’ll be feeling like Death is knocking at your door. Or pressing the buzzer, I suppose.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You're going to make time.” 

He turned toward Tom, who had stood as mute witness to the conversation. Not that he could have gotten a word in if he’d tried. 

“Mister Paris, what are you doing for the next three days?”

“Umm…” He shot a glance at B’Elanna, who was glaring at the Doctor. “Well, we’re at a dead stop so I guess I’m not piloting the ship.”

“A dead stop?!” B’Elanna tried to sit up again then changed her mind. 

“The warp core’s offline, sorry.”

“Oh, no.”

“But the turbolifts are working.” Tom smiled at her encouragingly. 

“I’m restricting you to quarters for the next three days, Lieutenant. Don’t make me make it five. Someone else will deal with the warp core.” B’Elanna was about to protest, but wisely kept quiet. “You will lie here and rest, and you, Mister Paris, will help Kes with the injuries caused when the ship suddenly stopped moving.”

For the first time Tom took a good look around, counting half a dozen crew sitting or lying in various spots around the room. “Sure, Doc,” he said. Suddenly, he felt exhausted.


	2. B’Elanna

*****

She must have napped because she woke up feeling fuzzy and extremely thirsty. She wondered if her mouth had been hanging open. She’d had the most vivid dream, that they were captured by the Vidiians again, and that she’d been split into her two halves. Her human self was dying of the virus, and she’d been begging Tom to help her, but he just laughed and said he and her Klingon self were going sailing on Lake Como. She’d shouted after them, screamed, and woke with a gasp, with her heart pounding in her chest. No one came rushing over, so she couldn’t have screamed out loud. She was thankful for that.

She tried to sit—stupid idea, she really must stop doing that—and fell back against the biobed with a groan. The Doctor hove into view. 

“And how are we doing after our little nap?”

She closed her eyes and wished him away. “You seem fine,” she grumbled, “I feel like crap.”

“That’s because you didn’t take care of yourself and now you’re ill.”

“I do feel terrible,” she admitted. It felt like the warp core was sitting on her chest. The muscles in her neck and shoulders felt seized, and she had a dull ache between her eyes, like her head was wrapped with a ditanium band. She consciously relaxed her hands. 

“Well, I have good news for you: your Klingon genes have protected you to a certain extent. You have a very mild case of the virus.”

Mild? She felt this bad and her case was mild?

“You feel ‘terrible’ as you said, because of exhaustion and dehydration. You’re going to have to take care of yourself from now on. Rest. Eat. Drink plenty of fluids.”

“Fine. I just want to go back to my quarters.”

“Mister Paris will be along soon to assist you with that.”

B’Elanna frowned. “You were serious? Tom’s going to be my nurse?”

“Of course I was serious. You can’t possibly be left on your own and Kes is busy tending to her own patients. Someone has to look after you.”

“Can’t… nevermind.” She had almost asked him if he could do it; she really must be exhausted. “What time is it?” 

“Almost twenty-three hundred. I’ve let Tom know you’re awake. He should be here to pick you up any minute.”

“Can I ask how things are going in engineering?”

The Doctor stared at her for a moment. “No.”

She was about to argue when Tom strode into sickbay. “And how is our patient?” He smiled at her. 

He looked like hell. He was pale, and his eyes were puffy, the skin under them bruised and purple. 

“Ready to go home,” she said.

“About that…” 

“What?” She was suddenly tense. Had her quarters blown up? Caught fire? Had section twelve cleaved from the ship and floated off into space?”

“Decks seven through nine have no life support. If you went to your quarters, you’d asphyxiate. Or you might freeze to death first.”

She closed her eyes and groaned. “So now what?”

“Wellll… I thought the easiest thing to do would be if you stayed with me. At my place.”

“An excellent idea, Mister Paris. Then you can monitor her condition throughout the night. You’ll have to watch her temperature, make sure she doesn’t develop a fever. I’ve taken the time to write out extensive notes for you, so I’d appreciate it if you’d read them and familiarize yourself with B’Elanna’s physiology, and the pathology of the virus. Keep in mind that it might present differently in a half-Klingon than in a full human.” 

“Wait! There must be somewhere else I can stay.” She could not stay with Tom Paris. She couldn’t share those tiny quarters with him, share the dozen little intimacies of a sickbed with him. She couldn’t. 

“Everyone is doubled up already, B’Elanna.” Tom’s tone had softened and she was reminded of how tired he must be. He’d been at the helm for alpha shift, and it wasn’t that long ago that he’d been lying in sickbay himself. 

“Some people are triple. It’s my quarters or the briefing room table.”

“Why don’t you bunk with Harry and I take your quarters?”

“Because Harry, ever the gentleman, gave his quarters to the Delaney sisters and he’s bunking with Freddy Bristow.”

“Oh.”

“It’ll be fine. You can have the bed and I’ll make do with the couch.” He smiled. 

B’Elanna chuffed a laugh. “There’s no way you’ll fit on the couch, Tom.” She smiled in turn, imagining him folding his long body to fit on that short sofa. Her mental picture of his legs hanging off the end was equally as funny.

“I’ll make do,” he assured her. “Come on, or do you want to spend the night here?” He lifted an eyebrow in a way that drew too much attention to his incredibly blue eyes. 

“Let’s go.” 

He took her hands and helped her to sit up, then guided her legs over the side of the bio bed. Normally, she would hop down, but tonight the deck looked far away. Tom’s hands closed around her waist, and she sucked a breath as a jolt shocked her. She looked at him. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders and we’ll get you down.”

She nodded and did what he suggested, and he tugged her to the edge of the bed, then pressed his palms against her rib cage as he lifted her down. Her knees buckled and she swayed toward him, one hand slipping down his chest to brace herself. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair.

She wanted to stay right there, to rest her head on his shoulder and feel the strength and surety of his arms around her. But she didn’t. She straightened and looked at him, noting the lines of exhaustion etched on his face. She nodded. “I can walk.” 

“Good. Because otherwise I’d have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.” His mouth quirked up in a smile. 

“Ha! I’d like to see you try.” She remembered a cave, snow, a bone-numbing cold. So why did she feel warm, looking at him? 

“How do you think you got here?” 

She frowned, confused. 

“The transporters are out. I had to carry you. Good thing the ‘lifts are working; I’d hate to have to drag you through a Jefferies tube.” 

She wasn’t quite sure if he was joking about that or not. 

“Here.” He wrapped her jacket around her shoulders and waited while she thrust her arms through the sleeves, then offered her his arm. “One foot after the other.”

“Right.” She nodded. She took a short step, sliding her foot along the carpet. It was okay. She took another, lifting her foot this time, and swayed slightly. Tom slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close. 

“Let’s try that again,” he said. 

They wove their way out of sickbay and the short distance to the turbolift. She was glad that the corridor was empty but it was equally possible, had they met anyone, that she wouldn’t care. She threw pride aside and leaned against him in the ‘lift, then relied on his arm around her waist to hold her up as they made their way to his quarters. Just as he keyed in his code and they were about to enter Tom’s quarters, Fitzpatrick exited his own. He passed them in the corridor, an odd expression on his face before he looked away, and she groaned. 

“Fantastic,” she muttered into his shoulder. 

“I’ll explain it to him later. No offense, but I don’t think either one of us look up to a night of wild passion. Come on, almost there.”

She gestured to the couch as they stepped into his quarters, and he eased her down. She sank into the cushions with a sigh. 

“I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

“Hmm? What?” She was half asleep already. “Where’s my pyjamas?”

“Still in your quarters. You remember, the part of the ship without oxygen?”

“Oh yeah.” Shit. That woke her. No clothes, no hairbrush, no toothbrush. She groaned. 

“It’s okay. I have plenty of tee shirts,” he said. 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘yeah, and ugly vests too’, but she kept her mouth closed. Fabric dropped in her lap, a faded red tee shirt and a pair of workout shorts. At least they weren’t his ‘fleet-issue boxers. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the thought of wearing Tom’s underwear. 

“You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch. I mean it.” 

A pillow dropped onto the couch cushion beside her. She was in no state to argue and, truthfully, she couldn’t wait to stretch out on a bed. 

“But first we’ll have to clean you up a bit.” 

“What?” She was half asleep, sitting up. 

Tom squatted in front of her and touched her forehead with a fingertip, between her ridges. His finger felt cool on her flushed skin. “You cut your head when you fainted. There’s still some blood. It’s in your hair.”

“Oh.” She stared at his tired smile, the golden glint of his beard on his chin, and her eyes were caught by the red fabric on his shoulders. She frowned, focusing on a spot of darker red, turning brown. Dried blood. “Is that…?”

He looked down, then frowned. “I carried you, remember?” 

She sucked a breath, suddenly feeling like it was all too much. Her day, week, life, had somehow ‘gone off the rails’ to paraphrase Tom Paris himself. She was tired, sweaty, itchy. She felt like shit and probably looked worse. She wanted to be clean and comfortable. “I’d love a sonic shower,” she mused. 

“Me too, actually,” Tom agreed. 

Hope flared through her, imagining the sonic waves massaging her body. “Can I?”

“B’Elanna, you can barely stand.”

“So I’ll sit on the floor.” It sounded perfectly reasonable to her. 

“How about we prop each other up?” 

B’Elanna drew back, life flaring back into her veins. She felt so awful she could barely stand—and looked worse—and he was flirting with her?

Tom held up his hands. “We can leave our underwear on, it’ll be perfectly respectable. Besides, I don’t have the energy to take advantage of you right now.”

God, she was tempted. And not just by the lure of the shower or finally being clean again. She really, really wanted to see Tom in his underwear. 

“Okay?” Tom asked, a little of that old Paris charm coming back. 

“Okay,” she agreed.

Tom hauled her to her feet again and held her arm as she walked into his bedroom. She had to sit on the bed while he helped her undress—not exactly the scenario that had played out in her fevered nighttime imaginings for the last six months—and she pretended not to watch while he stripped down to his singlet and boxers. He didn’t say a word about her non-regulation underwear. 

They had to stand close together in the small shower, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, partly for support and partly because she didn’t have the energy to resist any longer. She burrowed into his throat and inhaled a lungful of his scent, heady and warm and far too tempting, before the sonic waves swirled it away. 

Tom’s arm came around her and settled on her waist, holding her close. The fingers of his other hand brushed through her hair, and she felt a tug as the blood-sticky tendrils separated from the skin on her forehead and the sonic waves ‘washed’ it clean. It felt so good, the dirt and sweat being lifted from her body, her muscles being given a little massage, even the slight tickle of her clothing shifting under the undulations of warm air felt good. Tom’s body was warm and strong, and his arm was around her. She felt safe. Content. 

Happy.

“Hey.” He whispered in her ear. “You’re asleep on your feet.”

“Mmm?” She snuggled closer, her fingers bunching the fabric of his undershirt. 

“C’mon.” 

It felt like she was floating, and Tom’s scent was in her nose so he must be floating too. Then there were cool sheets against her legs, the comfort of a soft bed, and the heaviness of a blanket on top of her. She smiled, feeling the springy hairs on his arm beneath her fingertips, the firm muscle. The softness of his lips on her forehead as he kissed her. Then darkness took her.


	3. Tom

Tom checked the medkit and primed the hypospray as per the Doctor’s instructions. He set the PADD aside and instructed the computer to wake him in four hours. B’Elanna would need another dose of analgesic by then. God. He was a saint. He should he nominated for sainthood. She’d been soft and warm in his arms, practically falling into him and, though they’d both needed that shower, she’d smelled damn good to him. Spicy and heady. Intoxicating. She’d been so worn out, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, standing up. He’d had to carry her again to put her in his bed. 

Torture. It was pure torture. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed his hard-on or he may have been in for torture of a less pleasant kind. 

“Computer, lights at five per cent.” 

He settled onto the couch, his long legs hanging off the end, and pulled the blanket over him. He bunched the pillow under his head. He couldn’t see his bed, see her, but he knew she was there. And he’d be there in an instant if she woke in the night and needed him. 

He closed his eyes and remembered how she felt in his arms and, soon enough, his body gave in to his exhaustion and sleep took him. 

*

The computer droning in his ear woke him. 

::The current time is oh four hundred hours. The current time is oh four hundred hours. The current time is—::

“Computer, stop alarm.” Tom winced, then groaned. His neck and shoulders felt like they had seized into a solid slab of rock with his head precariously balanced on top. He felt like if he made a sudden movement, it would break off and roll into his lap. He turned his head and pain shot down his spine. Ow.

He did a little inventory of his body: his limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and his back was killing him, but he put that down to sleeping on the couch rather than a reemergence of the virus. He picked up the hypospray and medical tricorder from the coffee table and hauled himself to his feet. He noticed his old tee shirt on the arm of the sofa: B’Elanna had been so tired after their shower that she’d forgotten to put it on. He grabbed it as he crept into his bedroom. 

She looked peaceful, curled on her side with one arm stretched out toward his side of the bed. Tom felt a sigh swell in his chest; she looked good in his bed. 

He placed the med tools on the bedside table and slipped into the bathroom to relieve himself, then washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face. He looked like hell. If anything his eyes were more puffy and bloodshot than they’d been when he went to sleep. Real ‘romantic hero’ material. He hadn’t dreamed and, truthfully, it felt like he had just closed his eyes. He chugged a glass of water, then poured a few centimetres into the glass and took it with him to the bedroom. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and observed her. She was still asleep, no longer perspiring, and she looked peaceful. Her skin seemed to glow under the orange lights at the headboard of his bed, tawny highlights bouncing off her shoulders. She looked relaxed, her hands cupped around air, her fingers gently curled.

He thumbed the tricorder to mute before he scanned her. Her temperature was elevated, but not worryingly so. Her respirations shallow, but her lungs were clear. He laid it aside and picked up the hypospray and set it against her throat, dispensing the combination pain-killer and antipyretic to reduce her fever. 

Her eyes slitted open and focused on him, and her mouth parted in a slight smile. She looked sultry and soft. Welcoming. _Sick!_ he reminded himself. _She’s sick_. He thought about just how shitty he’d felt when he had the virus. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” He couldn’t help but smile at her. Even half-awake and so ill she could barely stand, she looked gorgeous. 

“Will I live?”

“Only if you follow your doctor’s instructions.”

She snorted softly. “And what might they be?”

“Plenty of rest and liquids. Here, drink this.” He took the glass of water from the nightstand and held it out to her. She rose obediently, and he slid an arm behind her shoulders, taking her weight as she half-sat and tried the water. After an initial, tentative sip, she gulped it down. 

“Easy, slow down,” Tom cautioned. “You want some more?”

She shook her head no and dropped back against the pillow. She eyed him while he placed the glass back on the nightstand. “You look like hell, Paris,” she observed. 

He turned toward her and smiled. “Yeah, well, that’s part of my plan to throw you off.” At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated. “If you think I’m too tired to fight you, you’ll take pity on me and do what you’re told.”

“Ha. Shows what you know about Klingons. Weakness isn’t tolerated, let alone pitied. Seriously, Tom, did you sleep at all last night?”

He shrugged. “Not well, but there’s still a few hours of gamma shift left so I have hope.”

“Look, it’s silly for you to try to fit on the couch. The bed is big enough for two, and it is your bed. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.”

Her warm palm slid up his arm, calloused fingers gripping his biceps. He closed his own hand over hers. 

“ _Seriously_ , B’Elanna, that’s probably a very bad idea.” Or a very, very good one. Heat washed over him. Definitely a good one. 

“As tempting as you are right now, Tom, I just don’t have the energy. Your virtue is safe with me. This virus has kicked my ass.” She smiled that crooked little smile that made his gut clench. “You know, my mother is a very attractive woman. She could have married anyone: a Bajoran, a Betazoid, a Trill. But no, she had to pick a human.”

“Too bad. I think you’d look pretty cute with spots.” He’d once shared a lazy weekend with a joined Trill while he was still in the Academy. He knew exactly how far down those spots went. His gut tightened. “Okay.” He relented; he was so fucking tired, she could be naked right now and her own virtue would be safe. But just in case… “Here,” he said, reaching for the tee shirt, “put this on.” 

She snorted but didn’t argue. 

“Be right back.” Tom walked into the living room and logged her medication onto the PADD, then brought it and his pillow to the bedroom. She had already snuggled back under the covers, and her eyes were closed. He slipped into bed and willed his body to relax, concentrating on the heaviness of his limbs, evening his breathing. He felt the warmth of her beside him in the bed. How long had he dreamed of just this? Sharing a bed with her, a life. Since before Sakari. Before the luau. They’re shared a narrow cot in that Vidiian mine, huddled together for warmth and security, but he hadn’t even been tempted by her. She’d been ill then, too, hadn’t been herself, had lost the essence that made her ‘B’Elanna’ in his mind. 

He didn’t just mean her forehead ridges.

She sighed in her sleep, and her hand slid across the sheets, seeking something. Him? Her fingertips touched his arm, and he covered her small hand with his.

He closed his eyes and felt himself falling…


	4. B’Elanna

Consciousness pulled at her, pushing away the sharp clarity of her dream. She’d been back in that cave, on Sikari, but instead of following the gallicite, she’d been tracking Tom. She remembered the cool dampness of the air on her skin, the smoothness of the stone beneath her bare feet, the rough rock walls throwing shadows in the bright light of her palm beacon. His scent was in her nose, leaving a clear trail that she could easily track, and her pulse started to pound as it grew stronger. The salty taste of his blood was still on her tongue, the prickle of his evening stubble still making her lips tingle. He was just ahead, just around the corner, almost hers… 

She blinked her eyes open and sucked in a breath. She was alone, the room was still and quiet. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes, becoming sharper each time she took a breath. She ached all over; even her hands hurt. She moved her limbs experimentally, then slowly pushed herself up. Her head swam and she blew out a long slow lungful of air. “Tom?” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “Tom, are you here?” No answer. 

She was incredibly thirsty, and her bladder was complaining. Slowly, carefully, she sat and swung her legs off the bed. Darkness crawled across her vision, and she sat for a long moment and waited for it to recede. So far, so good. It took her a few minutes to make it to the bathroom, staggering like a drunk, her hands gliding along the wall for balance. She had to pause and lean on the doorway, then sit on the bench beside the shower for a while, her head resting against the cool, durasteel wall. She couldn’t believe they had showered together last night! Clothed, of course, though barely, modesty protected like the adults they were. But even if they’d been nude—naked—it shouldn’t have mattered. Adults, she reminded herself. Starfleet officers, albeit provisional. 

She’d taken a peek, and she assumed he had as well. At his long toned legs and nicely shaped feet. At his flat belly and surprisingly well-muscled chest and shoulders. At the bulge in his boxers. And, of course, she’d chosen yesterday to wear her skimpy lace bra and decidedly non-regulation panties. All of her ‘fleet issue underwear was dirty; laundry hadn’t been high on her list of chores lately. 

She laughed at the absurdity of it: she finally got Tom Paris into bed and she was too sick to take advantage of it. She hauled herself up from the bench and emptied her bladder, then cupped her hands under the tap and gulped cold water. She eyed the shower longingly, but decided that was a bad idea. 

She was halfway back to bed when he walked into his quarters. She heard the doors opening, then closing, the light tread of his booted feet on the carpet. She thought about making a leap for the bed, but blackness clouded her vision and she felt herself slipping sideways. 

“Woah!” Tom yelped from the doorway. “Woah, hey.” 

His hands closed around her upper arms, then slipped to her waist, and she felt herself being lifted and moved. Her head swam, then the mattress was against the back of her knees, and he was pushing on her shoulders, forcing her to sit. She did so, gladly. She was either going to fall backwards or forwards. She chose forwards, bumping his chest with her forehead. His hand settled in her hair and his fingers gently massaged her scalp. 

“What did you think you were doing?”

“I had to pee.” She directed her explanation to his belly. 

“Yeah, well, next time, wait for me and I’ll help you.”

She snorted. Not likely. Talk about sickbed indignities. She raised her head, feeling more steady, and he peered at her, then reached for the tricorder. He ran the wand around her head, then stooped to run it down her side. He ‘hmmmed’ and tapped a few buttons on the display, then set it aside. 

“Back in bed.”

Her head had cleared and she scooted over to ‘her’ side on her own, then fluffed the pillows and leaned against the headboard. She spied a tray of food at the foot. She pointed. “Breakfast?” It was too much to hope that the replicators were back online. 

“Well, lunch, actually. Not counting our four am tête-à-tête, you slept for twelve hours.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Tom reached for the tray and set it beside her. He removed the cover with a flourish. “ _Darvot_ fritters with _rakkta_ sauce, a little leftover _hatana_ , and—” 

“Coffee?” B’Elanna asked hopefully as she eyed the small carafe. 

“ _Traggle_ nectar.” 

Her lip curled. “Where’s your crappy lunch?”

“I already ate it. I also stopped by sickbay, the Doctor will be by later to check on you. Here.” He handed her a sonic toothbrush. 

“Where did you get that?” She smiled, showing teeth that looked perfectly fine to him.

“I have my methods. I also brought you a couple of PADDs. If you eat all of your crappy lunch, you can read later.”

It sounded better than more sleep. “What’s on them?”

“A couple of novels,” Tom said. He turned away and busied himself smoothing out the blankets. “And Vorik’s daily report from last night.”

Her breath caught, and she sat up straighter. 

“Ah! You have to promise not to tell the doc I gave it to you, and no calling engineering to give orders. They’re fine on their own for a few days. Joe is back on duty this morning and he can handle whatever comes up.”

She tried to stare him down but he was unmoved. “Fine. Hand me the report.”

“Take a bite of the fritters first.” He held the PADD just out of reach.

She sighed and did as he instructed. They weren’t awful but they were a little soggy. She tried another bite and felt like gagging. 

“Now the _hatana_.”

“I hate it.” It came out like a whine but she didn’t care. 

“Everyone hates it but it’s good for you.” He picked up a small covered bowl that she’d overlooked. 

“What’s that?”

“Dessert, a special present from Neelix to our ailing chief engineer. I’ll make you a deal, you eat half of your _hatana_ and you can have this.” He waggled the little pot in front of her nose. 

She squinted at it, admiring his long, slim fingers. “What is it?” She wasn’t about to agree to anything unless she knew the terms. 

Tom grinned and lifted the lid. “Jabalian chocolate fudge mousse.”

She knew her eyes went round, and she couldn’t prevent herself from sucking in a breath. She reached for it, but Tom yanked it away. 

“Ah, ah. Food first, dessert later.” His gorgeous eyes sparkled. 

“You call this food?” she muttered. “Fine.” She cut another forkful of fritters and chewed methodically, washing it down with a mouthful of the tart juice, then picked up a PADD and thumbed it on. Transporters were still offline. Life support was back on deck seven. The turbolifts in section twenty-three alpha had gone out overnight, but were back up now. Murphy, Nozawa, Swinn, and Chapman were back on duty. 

Tom watched her as she ate, at one point taking the fork from her hand and scooping up a pile of the _hatana_. He held it in front of her mouth threateningly. “Don’t make me feed you. I’m prepared to do it, if I have to.”

She scowled and took the fork from him, and choked down the pulpy orange goo. It was easier if she swallowed it quickly, so she didn’t have to taste it. Tom scanned her again, then prepped a hypo and pressed it to her neck. He made a few notes on his PADD. 

She was getting tired, she realized, and set the report aside and leaned on the pillows. “I’m done.” She pushed at the tray in her lap. 

He eyed her plate critically, then cut a small chunk of fritter and dipped it in the goo. He looked stern as he brought it to her mouth. 

“Ugh, no more, please.” For a moment, she thought he would insist, but he relented and dropped the fork back onto the plate, then set the tray aside. He offered her the pot of pudding. 

“Here, you’ve earned it.” 

To her surprise, she didn’t want it. “Maybe later, I’m kind of tired right now.”

Tom stared at her again, and something flared in his eyes. “Okay.” His voice was low, and it started an unexpected thrum along her nerve endings. “I’ll leave it right here.” He set the pot and a spoon on the bedside table beside her combadge, and stood. “The doc has suddenly remembered that I’m a trained medic so aside from looking after you he has me helping him out in sickbay.”

“Where’s Kes? Is she sick?” Had the virus jumped species? Had it mutated? 

“Looking after her own patients. I’ll be in sickbay if you need me. One deck down. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, needing to block out the image of him in his uniform, his tall, strong body, his finely muscled arms that had carried her from the bathroom and tucked her into his bed. She heard the door swish open, then shut. This really wouldn’t do. How could she stay here, in his quarters, in his bed, when she couldn’t even be near him without wanting to touch him? It was the virus. It had weakened her resolve, battered away at her inhibitions, until she found herself falling for that famous Paris charm. Except, she was pretty sure he hadn’t tried to charm her. He’d just been kind to her, nice. She was reading more into this situation than was actually there.

Reading. She wasn’t sleepy anymore, her mind was too active. She reached for the other PADD Tom had brought, curious about the novels he had loaded, and scanned the directory. _Treasure Island_ by Robert Louis Stevenson, _Paradise Regained_ by John Milton. _Kiss Me Deadly_ by Mickey Spillane. _Comparative Alien Physiology_ by Leonard H. McCoy, MD? 

_Oo-mox For Fun and Profit_ by Kidac. She hoped he was kidding! 

_Women Warriors at the River of Blood_. 

She grinned and felt a blush rise in her cheeks. Jerk. The joke was on him though: she’d already read it three times. 

_Vulcan Love Slave_. She laughed out loud at that one! _Guadaal’s Lament. Finding and Winning Your Perfect Mate_ , Dr. Jennings Rain. _How to Advance Your Career Through Marriage.._.

B’Elanna sighed. Tom had a knack for pushing a joke just a bit too far. She wasn’t under any illusions that he was serious, but it was tempting to see just how far he was willing to go. Not that far, obviously. But she wondered if she could convince him that there was an old Klingon custom that said if a man and woman shared a bed, they were married. She could imagine the conversation, ‘Sorry, Tom, it looks like we’re married now.’ ‘But all we did was sleep!’ ‘Yes, well, there’s no real definition of sharing a bed, and we definitely did sleep together, so…’ 

She snorted. Would he panic? Or would his eyes light with that warm glow? The idea was tempting, and terrifying. 

She scrolled back up and selected a title: “ _Abducted from her homeland by a masked rider, a passionate and young T'epena would soon know the passions of his bed, his love, growing closer to the man who owned her as his slave._ " 

B’Elanna bit her lip and snickered, then blew a calming breath. “Oh, yeah,” she murmured. “This one. It’ll serve him right.”

She snuggled comfortably into the pillows and began to read.


	5. Tom

She’d been sound asleep when he’d slipped out before lunch, and he’d only planned to be gone a few minutes, but then he’d run into Harry in the mess and he’d invited Tom to sit with him and eat. Harry had peppered him with questions about B’Elanna, and had answered Tom’s own about repairs. Tom had figured, rightly, that B’Elanna would want to know what was going on with her ‘baby’. He hadn’t even been gone an hour, and he certainly hadn’t pictured her getting up so soon. 

It had scared the shit out of him when he’d come back to his quarters and she wasn’t in the bed. He’d thought for a moment that she wasn’t there at all, and he was just about to comm engineering and ask if she’d shown up. He pictured her pitching head first into an open conduit, or maybe passing out in a corridor or a Jefferie’s tube and lying there for hours before anyone missed her. But then he’d looked up and spotted her teetering in the bathroom doorway, white as a sheet, looking like she was about keel over. He’d tossed the food tray onto the bed and scooped her up, wanting nothing more than to keep holding her. But when her knees began to buckle, common sense had prevailed and he’d steered her to the bed.

Then she’d rested her head on his chest, her breasts pressed against his groin… He was starting to wonder if this was a good idea after all. He could leave her ensconced in his quarters, bunk in with Harry and Bristow. Maybe trade a few patients with Kes. 

He’d dreamed of having B’Elanna Torres in his bed, imagined it, planned it. He fell short of scheming. He wanted it to be her idea because, when she was finally there for real not just convenience, he wanted her to stay there for a good long time. He could think of a dozen different ways to keep her happy in his bed including an improvised game of ‘count the spinal ridges’. He’d glimpsed them when they’d had their shower last night. He’d had no idea, no clue, and it had felt like discovering buried treasure, and that thought had inspired him to include _Treasure Island_ on the PADD. It had sort of spiraled out of control after that. 

The ‘lift doors parted and he made his way to sickbay, girding his loins for whatever the doctor handed him. Anything, anything, to erase the image of B’Elanna wearing his tee shirt. To eradicate her beautiful brown eyes and full mouth from his mind. The sweet torture of her body pressed against his. 

***

Tom pressed the buzzer and waited. And waited some more. He knew she was in there, he’d checked with the computer. He was just about to use the emergency medical override to open her door when it slid aside. He took a cautious step inside. “Captain?” He’d never been in her quarters before, never had cause to be. 

“In here.”

That went double for her bedroom. He squared his shoulders and plunged in. She was propped up in bed, pillows behind her, and PADDs scattered around her. He assessed her automatically. Her colour was good, eyes bright, respiration even. She looked a little cranky though.

“Kes warned me you’d be checking on me this afternoon. Now I know things are bad.”

Tom smiled at the gentle ribbing. He eyed her untouched lunch tray. What was it with these strong, smart women that made them believe they could live on air alone? He opened the medical tricorder and started to scan her.

“I hear you have B’Elanna ensconced in your quarters.”

Tom froze. “Now where would you hear something like that, confined to your bed?”

She smiled. “From Kes.” At his sudden jolt, she hastened to reassure him. “Relax. I asked how B’Elanna was doing and she said you were taking good care of her. Neither one of us have any intention of telling anyone else where she is.” Tom nodded. “How am I doing?”

Tom tucked the wand into the tricorder and smiled at her. “You tell me, Captain.”

“I feel fine. A little stir-crazy.”

Tom nodded, remembering how he’d felt on day five of bed rest. “It looks like the virus is running its course. The Doctor will check you out later today when he makes his rounds, but I think you’ll be cleared for light duty tomorrow.”

“I’m holding you to that, Lieutenant.”

Tom smiled and tucked the tricorder into the satchel he’d brought with him. He pulled out a small covered dish. “I’m going to make the same deal with you that I made with B’Elanna at lunch.” He unclipped the lid but paused before he removed it. “If you eat all of that,” he pointed at her untouched mess tray, “you can have this.” He removed the lid with a flourish.

“Strawberries and cream!” His brilliant, competent, ball-buster of a captain looked like a little girl eyeing a birthday cake. She reached for it—so like B’Elanna, he thought—and he pulled it out of reach. 

“The replicators are working?” Her smile seemed to take years off her. 

“Just the one in the galley; Carey gave it priority.” 

“Smart man that Joe Carey.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. Married, experienced man. “Can I trust you, or do I have to sit here and watch you eat?” It was, he thought, the perfect question to ask. She looked affronted.

“I’m a grown woman, Tom. I know that dinner comes before dessert.”

“Uh huh.” 

“Hand it over. That’s an order.”

He did, then picked up the satchel and moved to the doorway. “Don’t forget to nap when you’re sleepy. Your body needs rest, don’t fight it.”

“Yes, doctor.” 

Tom grinned again and hurried out. He’d been gone far longer than he’d intended and he was anxious to get back to B’Elanna. 

***

“Honey, I’m home.” 

He balanced the loaded mess tray and toed off his boots. He debated placing it on the coffee table, but decided that B’Elanna should probably spend the whole day in bed. They could build a ‘pillow fort’ tomorrow. He grinned at the thought. 

“B’Elanna? I brought dinner. A light repast for you, in deference to your…” 

The bed was empty. Okay, not a big surprise. The covers had been pushed back,and there was an abandoned PADD in the middle of the mattress. He put the tray down. 

The bathroom door was open. “B’Elanna?” He didn’t hear water running, or the sonic shower. His jaw tensed as suspicion stole over him. The bathroom was empty. On a hunch he peered into his closet. Nope. He stalked back into his bedroom and noticed that his red tee shirt was crumpled on the floor, and that her uniform and combadge were gone. Anger sparked through him, and he jerked his hand toward his chest then paused. No. He wasn’t going to give her any damn warning. He thought a moment, then tapped his combadge. 

“Paris to Ensign Kim.”

“ _Kim here. What’s up, Tom?_ ”

“Did I hear correctly that transporters are back online?”

“ _Yeah. We got emergency transporters back up forty-five minutes ago, why?_ ”

“I need you to do me a favour, but don’t ask any questions, okay?”

“ _Ummm…_ ”

“It’s strictly above board, don’t worry, Ensign.” 

There was a slight pause. “ _Okay, Lieutenant, what is it?_ ”

“Lock on to Lieutenant Torres’ coordinates and beam her to my comsignal.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just do it.”

“ _Aye, sir. But since I’m under orders, I won’t be held responsible_.”

Tom folded his arms and waited. There was a shimmer, then B’Elanna started to coalesce, her voice sounding hollow like she was at the end of a long tunnel. 

“...eed you to check the rear deflector.” She jerked, and her head snapped up and she looked around. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” Tom’s arm shot out and he plucked the combadge from her chest. “Next time, I’ll go down there in person and carry you out! Get out of that uniform and get back in bed.” He realized how that sounded a moment after it left his mouth, and he felt the tips of his ears grow hot. B’Elanna’s mouth dropped open. 

“You are sick, Lieutenant, with a virus that has laid waste to every human member of this crew, including the captain.” He didn’t mention that Harry still showed no signs of illness but he was a freak anyway. “You’re not so special, or irreplaceable, that you can’t spend a few days resting. Now get in bed.”

Her mouth firmed and she glared at him. 

“Or do I have to have you beamed there?”

“You have no idea how bored I am having to spend all day in bed!”

Even pissed as he was, he could think of a few ways to entertain her. “Yeah, I do. That was me last week, remember?”

“Then you should have more sympathy for me.” Her tone changed from accusing to wheedling. “Tom, you don’t know what it feels like to have a Klingon body.”

He’d love to find out… 

“I need to move. I can’t stay cramped in one position forever.”

Several _positions_ sprang to mind. He swallowed. “I’m not going to tie you down, B’Elanna,” an interesting thought, “you can roll around all you want as long as you stay in that bed.”

“But I feel fine.” 

She was starting to get angry now, and Tom paused for breath. Getting into a shouting match with her wouldn’t do either one of them any good. “That’s because the meds I’ve been giving you are working. Believe me, if I stopped you’d feel like crap again.” 

She stared at him for a long moment but he didn’t back down. It occurred to him that he rarely backed down in the face of her temper. Well, she would have to live with it. She wasn’t getting past him again. He’d sleep across the doorway if he had to, to keep her in. 

“Fine,” she gritted. She stooped and snatched the tee shirt from the floor, then crossed to his closet. He heard his drawers being opened and slammed closed, then she appeared in the passway, something clutched in her fist. “I’m taking a shower, if that’s okay with you.”

His eyebrow rose. “Be my guest.” Literally, since it was his bathroom. He glanced at her hand. “If you need anything else…”

She ignored him and stormed into the bathroom. Just before the door slid shut, he caught the word ‘prick’. His eyebrows rose and his mouth puckered. He didn’t think she knew that word! 

He laughed as his brain considered all the Klingon swear words he knew.

***

Dinner was tense. He was hungry, and he’d thought about eating his while she spent forever in the shower, but decided to wait. He figured, rightly, that she wouldn’t want him sitting there staring at her. 

The pot of chocolate mousse was still by the bed, untouched. This virus must be killing her appetite. Once he’d finished his meal, and she’d drank her broth and eaten more than half of the fresh fruit Neelix had prepared for her, he risked her wrath and scanned her. 

The Doctor arrived at the door, and Tom caught her look of panic when he asked her if she was getting lots of rest. Tom sent her a little nod: her misdeeds were safe with him, for now. The doc tut-tutted as he read the screen, then administered an antiviral and an analgesic. Before he left, he warned Tom, again, to keep an eye on her temperature. 

The door chimed again and Tom hit the release, assuming the Doctor had forgotten something, but Harry stood there. 

“How’s the patient?” He walked in, uninvited. 

“What?”

“B’Elanna.” Harry scowled at Tom’s stupefied expression. “You don’t think I know where I beamed her?”

“You can’t say a word, Harry,” Tom began. 

“Of course not. Besides, who would I tell?” Harry’s eyes grazed over the couch, then he headed toward the sleeping area. “Hey, Maquis, you in there?”

“Have you come to save me, Starfleet?”

“Save you?” 

Harry smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. Tom’s eyes strayed to his own ‘half’ but she had bunched his pillow behind her back. He assumed she wasn’t going to invite him into his bed tonight. 

“Rescue me from Tom’s tender care.” She shot him a glare. 

“Nope, but I thought I’d offer to sit with you if he wanted to go do something.” 

Sit? Like babysit? He doubted that Harry had ever looked after a child in his life, not that Tom had either. But he’d swear that B’Elanna was worse than a three year old. A room full of them. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announced. 

“Uh huh.” 

This from Harry. B’Elanna ignored him. Tom walked to his closet and slammed a few drawers, grabbing a change of underwear and his sleep pants. He chose a navy blue tee shirt. 

They were laughing together when Tom walked into the bathroom.

*

Harry stayed for another two hours, completely at ease on the end of the bed while he and B’Elanna traded stories about the Academy. Harry told more than she did, but Tom learned that she’d been on the track team, and had started a fist fight in one of her classes, and that she’d had a boyfriend in her first year, back when she thought her future was set and bright. 

Tom had sat in the chair in the corner of his bedroom, listening, mostly ignored. There, but removed from their easy camaraderie. He pretended to review PADDs and write reports, but his ears had perked up when Harry had asked her if the romance had been serious. 

“I was eighteen, Harry. I was hardly thinking about settling down.”

“I dunno,” Harry teased, “I can picture you: a cozy little ship of your own, a couple a kids, a dog…” 

“I’m not really a dog person,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

He’d never considered that she might have been in a serious relationship before. He’d assumed she’d had lovers and had spent more time than was seemly imagining what it would be like to make love with her, especially after _the incident._ But he’d never pictured her with a steady boyfriend, spending time with him, sharing intimacies. A bed. 

He wasn’t jealous. The idea was ridiculous. He was just irritated that Harry was staying so long. 

B’Elanna was yawning, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. Tom was ready to pick him up by his ears and toss him out of there. Really, Tom emerging from the shower ready for bed should have been hint enough. 

Tom set his PADD aside, and stood and grabbed the tricorder out of his medkit. He slid between them with a murmured “excuse me” and ran the wand over B’Elanna’s head. She batted at it. 

“Tom.” Her voice held a little growl. 

“No, it’s getting late,” Harry said. “I should go.”

No kidding. 

“Will you drop by for lunch tomorrow?” B’Elanna asked. “I get bored here.”

Tom frowned. 

“Sure,” Harry agreed with a smile. He stood and moved toward the door. Tom followed him.

“Thanks for dropping by, Harry.” Tom’s voice held an edge to it. 

Harry shrugged. “I figured she’d be mad at you after what you pulled.”

“Maybe she was a little.”

Harry shrugged. “She’ll get over it.” 

The door slid closed on his back, and Tom turned and eyed the couch. His lip curled. Just the idea made his neck ache. He walked back into the sleeping area just as she emerged from the bathroom and climbed meekly back into the bed. Neither of them said a word as he finished scanning her, then pressed a hypo to her neck. She settled down and picked up her PADD. Tom grabbed for his pillow, and reached for the spare blanket folded at the end of the bed. She tugged the pillow out of his hand. 

“Tom, come to bed.” Her voice was soft, suggestive. 

He whipped his head around to stare at her. Her expression was guileless. She couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded. 

“I don’t believe that you fit on that couch.” She pushed the blanket aside and patted the mattress. “Come on, I promised your virtue is safe with me, remember?”

He couldn’t resist. He was tired, and his couch was lumpy, and she looked too damn tempting in his bed. He sighed, defeated. “Okay. But if one finger crosses the centre line of that bed…” 

She held up her hands in concession. “Scouts honour.” Her mouth lifted in that crooked smile. 

He was fucking doomed.

They sat up in bed like an old married couple, both reading PADDs until Tom was tired and his attention started to stray from the words. He glanced over at B’Elanna. She appeared to be sleeping, curled on her side toward him, unmoving, her left hand up by her chin, bunched in a loose fist. There was a strand of hair on her cheek, and he wanted to tuck it behind her ear, but he resisted the urge. Illness fostered a false intimacy, he knew that, a dependency, and he was being very careful to stay professional. While they shared a bed. 

He stifled a snort, and it turned into a sigh. He was the universe’s favourite punching bag. He tugged the PADD from her slack hand and put it on his bedside table with his own, then settled against the sheets. He took one more look at her, sleeping peacefully, her expression soft and relaxed. Gorgeous, he decided. She was, quite simply, stunning.

“Computer, lights at five percent.” 

The lights obligingly dimmed, and Tom pulled the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes and listened to B’Elanna’s slow, even breaths. Sleep was a long time coming.

*

He didn’t know what woke him but something wasn’t right. He glanced to his left but B’Elanna wasn’t there. Anger flared in his chest again, followed quickly by disappointment. He sat up and threw off the covers. “Computer, lights at twenty percent.” He’d been clear with her, and while she hadn’t promised to behave, he had warned her what he would do if she snuck out again. It’s not that he minded the idea of throwing her over his shoulder in a good old fashioned fireman’s lift, in fact the thought of her pert bottom so near to his face had its appeal, but he wasn't sure he had the energy to carry her through the corridors. 

He didn’t really want to embarrass her like that, either. Or experience getting kicked in the gut by an enraged half-Klingon. 

He was reaching for his uniform pants when he heard a noise coming from his closet. Oh. She was still here. Maybe she was cold and looking for a long-sleeved shirt. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that her absence from the bed could have had a completely innocent reason.

She came out from his closet and almost smacked into him. “Hello, Tom.”

He looked her up and down, his frustration barrelling back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She was wearing a pair of his casual pants and his favourite sweater. It was far too big for her, falling almost to her knees, and she had the sleeves shoved up her arms, bunched at her elbows. She looked like something out of the Oliver Twist holonovel.

“I’m going skiing.”

“Skiing?” Tom frowned, confused. He looked closer at her. Her eyes looked too bright, glassy, and she was staring at a point past his ear as she addressed him. 

“Yes. We need to get the _splect_ to Neelix or it won’t gel, and the fastest way down the mountain is to ski. Remind Harry to feed the captain’s dog.”

Was she dreaming. Was she sleepwalking? He’d had some pretty vivid dreams while he was sick but he didn’t think he’d sleepwalked. “Dog?”

“Yes.” She nodded, smiling radiantly, her expression full of uncontained joy. Tom’s heart did a little flip-flop in his chest. “The captain said if we stay in bed we could have a puppy.” 

She took a step and tripped on the long leg of Tom’s pants. He caught her, righting her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “The puppy’s already here, B’Elanna,” Tom said. He guided her toward the bed, keeping hold of her arm in case she tripped again. 

“He is?”

“Yeah. Here, lie down.” 

She did as she was told, climbing back onto the bed and stretching out. She closed her eyes and sighed. What should he do? She wouldn’t be comfortable in his pants and sweater, surely? He reached toward her, then hesitated. “C’mon, Tommyboy,” he murmured, “you’ve taken off these pants a hundred times.” 

Sure, but never off someone else. He gingerly pushed the sweater up until her belly was exposed. The tee shirt had ruched up, and he glimpsed an expanse of smooth, bronze skin, and the sweet curve of a breast. She’d taken off her bra. He pulled the tee shirt down a little. He popped the fastener and tugged on the pants, easing them down over her hips and out from under her bottom. She was wearing a pair of his boxer briefs, ‘fleet issue. He’d never thought of them as sexy before. Boy, was he wrong. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d undressed a woman, not by far, but his hands were shaking this time, and he felt fumbly and too warm. He gently pulled the pants down and off and tossed them onto the chair, then folded the blanket over her bare legs. 

The sweater posed a different problem. Could he really pull her arms free and get it over her head without her waking? He’d never do it. He watched her sleep, and his hand clenched in the thick wool. Maybe he could beam it off her? Cut it off her? His eyes strayed to the medkit. Was there a low-power scalpel in there? A pair of scissors? Nail clippers?

“Tom?” 

He looked back at her. She was watching him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sultry. 

“Hey.”

“What happened? Why am I wearing…?”

She tugged on the hem of the sweater and Tom helped her shove it over her head. He tossed it toward the chair, but it landed on the floor. He didn’t care. 

“You were sleepwalking. You got dressed.” 

“Oh. Is the puppy okay?” 

He stared at her. She wasn’t quite looking at him, and her eyes still looked glazed. She was still asleep. Tom settled back in bed beside her. “Yeah, the puppy’s fine. He’s sleeping. Let’s go to sleep now, too. It’s late.”

“Okay.” 

She rolled toward him, reaching for him, and put her head on his chest. The line had definitely been crossed. Her arm came around his middle, then her hand inched upward until it was resting on the skin of his chest, exposed by the deep vee neck of his sleep shirt. Tom pulled her closer. What the hell, maybe if he hung onto her, she’d stay in bed. 

He sighed, relaxing against her, sleep stealing over him. Fatigue had leadened his limbs, and B’Elanna’s soft warmth beside him lulled him to sleep.


	6. B’Elanna

B’Elanna woke to an insistent pressure in her bladder and another on her butt cheek. She shifted slightly to get away from it. She was deliciously warm, and she didn’t want to get up. Still, there was a heavy weight on her hip, and something was tickling her ear. Hair. Breath. Tom’s scent all around her. Tom’s bed. Tom’s body curled around hers. 

Oh. 

Her eyes snapped open. She was dressed, ish. Still clad in his tee shirt, and she could feel the waistband of her—his—underwear digging into her bladder. She wondered how long before the need to pee became too insistent to ignore. Maybe a minute. Less? She carefully moved away from his warmth, his slack hand sliding off her hip and brushing her thigh as she edged away from him. She moved closer to the edge of the bed and pushed herself up. Her head wasn’t spinning, and her vision was clear: no black tunnels or bright spots of light. 

She crept around the bed and into the bathroom, thankful for the softly closing door. 

*

Tom had turned onto his back and was eyeing her as she came out of the head. His face was still soft with sleep, his eyes half closed, and his morning stubble glinted golden on his cheeks and chin. He was far too tempting. She almost didn’t dare climb back into bed. 

“Good morning,” she said. A false brightness that she didn’t feel.

“Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well?” 

Did he know that he’d been holding her while they slept? That they’d been cuddled together in the centre of the bed? 

He scooted over to ‘her’ side of the bed and lifted the covers. “Come back to bed, B’Elanna.” 

“Umm.” She nodded and climbed in. What excuse could she possibly give? He’d seen her come out of the bathroom and there was no where else she could reasonably go. His scent was even stronger on his pillow, and she lay stiffly on her back, and folded her hands over her belly and closed her eyes. 

“You look comfy,” Tom observed. 

Her mouth twitched, she couldn’t help it. 

“It’s okay, I’m getting up,” Tom said.

She felt him shift in the bed, heard the sheet rustle. “No.” She turned her head toward him and opened her eyes. “Stay.” He was braced on one elbow in the act of rising, but he stilled at that and stared at her, his eyes flickering over her face. She was certain he’d been staring at her mouth. 

His lips parted, and he moved slightly toward her, then stopped himself. “I have to…” He gestured toward the bathroom, and she felt her cheeks heat in a blush. 

“Um, right.” 

Her chest felt tight. He was already getting up, shifting to walk around the bed. She closed her eyes again, hoping that if she couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t be able to see her. Stupid. Stupid. How embarrassing. They end up cuddling in their sleep, a completely involuntary action, and she thinks that means he wants to have sex with her. He’d had ample opportunity. And not just since she’d moved into his quarters. But he hadn’t even made a pass at her. He’d been a perfect gentleman, despite his flirting, and his pretty eyes, and his sincere-sounding words. Maybe he just liked the chase? 

She was an idiot. He was her friend, and her defacto nurse, and she’d mistaken his kindness, his professional concern, for… something else. 

Tom stayed in the bathroom for a long time. She heard the hum of the sonic shower, and water running in the sink. And when the door finally opened he didn’t even look at her as walked to his closet. A few minutes later, he came out fully dressed. He stopped beside the bed and reached for his combadge, then clipped his pips onto his collar. She pretended she wasn’t watching him. 

Talk about intimacy. Was this what it would be like if they shared quarters? For real, instead of just because of this extraordinary situation. If they were together, dating. Would they take turns in the bathroom, move through the bedroom, shifting around each other as they got ready for work? It sounded… commonplace. Ordinary. Almost boring. But extraordinary, too. It sounded like belonging. 

She glanced away from him while he found his boots. 

She had shifted over in the bed while he was in the shower, and was reading her PADD—the engineering report, which had updated this morning, not the ridiculous Vulcan romance novel. Tom had only included it as a joke, she was sure, and she had planned to highlight passages that she could read aloud to him so they could laugh together. But it had been incredibly steamy, and parts of it had touched her: T’epena’s inner conflict as she found herself falling in love with her proud, handsome captor. Her longing for him. She was young, still hadn’t mastered her emotions, and she was confused and filled with inner conflict, trying to deny that dark, passionate side of herself that didn’t align with the cool, pure logic that was the tenant of her people’s beliefs. B’Elanna knew how T’epena felt. She’d spent many hours wrestling with her own dark side, her passionate side, her _Klingon_ side. 

It wasn’t possible that Tom had read it, was it? Was he trying to tell her something? Some message hidden in the pages of a silly novel? No. Because If he were, he’d be in bed with her now instead of putting on his boots. 

“I’ll be back with breakfast,” he called to her, then he was out the door before she could respond. He forgot to scan her. Forgot her hypo. He was in such a hurry to get away from her, he forgot to play doctor. She laughed at that so she wouldn’t cry. 

***

Her—the—door chimed just as her combadge chirped. “ _Kim to Torres_.” B’Elanna picked it up and squeezed. “Torres here.” She eyed the door in case it chimed again. 

“ _Kes and I are coming in…_ I wanted to give you a heads up so we didn’t startle you.” Harry walked into Tom’s quarters carrying a mess tray. Kes followed behind him. 

“Good morning, B’Elanna, you look better.” Kes smiled and set a medkit on the bed. “Tom must be taking good care of you. He asked me to look in on you.”

“And he asked me to bring your breakfast,” Harry said. He looked around for a place to put the tray, settling for walking around the bed and placing it on Tom’s side. _The other side_. They were both Tom’s sides: it was his bed. She snorted at that, and Kes looked up from the medical tricorder and stared at her. 

B’Elanna shook her head. Nothing. It was nothing. “Well. I guess Tom’s learned to delegate,” she said. “He’ll be a commander in no time.”

Harry frowned. “Meg needed him in stellar cartography. Long range sensors are still working.”

Megan Delaney. Better and better. She shifted in the bed, suddenly irritated. “What about life support on deck nine? When can I go home?”

“Still down, sorry. Crew quarters are pretty low priority.” Harry’s expression shifted, and he squinted at her. “Is everything okay? I thought you and Tom were getting along.” 

“I think I’m ‘cramping his style’” B’Elanna tried a laugh but it sounded a little strangled. 

“I don’t think so.” Kes was still staring intently at her, studying her, like she could see right through her. Like she could read her mind. Maybe she could. “He told me that he enjoys your company.” 

“Did he?” He had a funny way of showing it. Leaving her alone. Rejecting her. Sending Harry and Kes to hold her hand instead facing her himself. She shuddered a breath. Why was she so weepy all of a sudden? She was Klingon! Klingons didn’t get fucking weepy. They got revenge!

That made her want to laugh. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Kes asked. Harry was looking at her with concern.

“Tired, I guess. A little,” she glanced down at her fingers and watched as they worried the hem of the blanket, looked up at a spot beyond Kes’ right ear, “emotional.” She shrugged.

Kes smiled warmly and covered B’Elanna’s hands with her own. “That’s the virus. Here.” She pressed a hypospray to B’Elanna’s throat. “You’ll feel better soon. The virus seems to be working its way through your system very quickly. I’ll talk to the Doctor and see if you can spend a few hours in engineering tomorrow morning.”

“You will?” Those damn tears threatened again. 

“I can’t promise he’ll say yes.”

“Eat your breakfast, Maquis,” Harry said. “Tom convinced Neelix to include this, for dessert. He didn’t actually need much convincing.” 

Harry produced a small pot with a secure lid. It looked familiar. She glanced at her bedside table, but yesterday morning’s pudding was gone. B’Elanna reached for it, and Harry placed it in her hand. 

“Tom said to remind you that you had to eat all of your breakfast before you get to eat the pudding,” Harry said. 

“I’ll try.”

“Good. I’ve gotta go, the Doctor wants me in sickbay.”

“Are you sick?” Hadn’t Tom said that Harry was the only human who hadn’t gotten the virus yet? 

“Nope. That’s why he wants to see me. He wants to study my immune system.”

“Little late for that, Starfleet.” B’Elanna grinned. 

Harry shrugged and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“I have some time if you’d like me stay with you while you eat.” Kes smiled serenely. 

B’Elanna nodded. She would, she realized. “I’d like that.” 

***

_“‘It’s sensation, eshikh svai, my desert flower, not emotion. When I do this, what you feel is the nerves in your skin reacting to the pressure of my fingertips.’_

_He trailed his fingers down her cheek, over her jaw and into the hollow at her collarbone. His breath was in her ear. She shuddered, her body coming alive at his touch. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, her nipples tightened to hard points._

_‘I’m not supposed to give myself to you,’ she protested. ‘I am promised to S’Tuund. We were betrothed when we were still children.’ She leaned back against his rock hard chest, and his arm came around her waist, the firm muscles like stone against her tender flesh._

_‘Did you chose him?’_

_His lips were on her temple, trailing fire along her cheekbone to her jaw, then down her throat. She swayed against him, craving more. Then his words echoed in her ear and in her heart._

_‘Did you have a say?’_

_‘Do I with you?_ ’ 

_Her body stiffened and she drew away from him, and he let her go. He thought he saw regret on her proud face. If so, then he was breaking through her barriers. Chipping away at the ice she had layered around her passionate heart. He knew that Vulcans had emotions, great and terrible ones, and that they had locked them away behind logic and ritual. But at what price? To only experience passion once every seven years? He intended to build a life with this woman. To share everything that he had, everything that he was, with her alone. If he were lucky, their passion would last seventy years. His species was not as long lived as hers, a lifespan that he had once envied. But what price long life without passion and emotion to fill it, to enrich it? He would win this woman. Without her hi—_ ”

The door slid open and B’Elanna jumped. Her head jerked up and she covered the screen with her hand. Tom strode into his quarters with his spine straight and chin up, a grim expression on his face. He looked like he was walking into battle. His step faltered as he approached the bedroom. He’d sailed right past her. She watched him from her position on the couch, propped against the arm with her legs tented on the seat under a light blanket. He froze, then moved further into the bedroom. She heard the bathroom door slid open, and his soft ‘for fuck’s sake’. 

“I’m out here.”

He paused in the doorway from the bedroom. “I thought…” His expression looked a little sheepish. 

“No. I learned my lesson last time.”

“Good.” Tom took a step forward, clapped his hands together. Glanced at her, looked away. He took another step. “You look better.”

“Yeah. The Doctor examined me. He said I can go to engineering and work for a few hours tomorrow as long as I take it easy.”

Tom had almost made it to the couch by now. “He came by?”

“Yeah. A couple of hours ago. And Kes brought my dinner.” 

He glanced at the empty tray that she’d left on the coffee table. “Must of been good; you ate it all.”

She nodded. “Kes made me some potato salad. Sort of. Her father’s recipe. I didn’t think I’d like it because I don’t like potato salad, not usually, but it was good.” She was rambling. She stopped. 

Tom smiled, his eyes going soft. He plucked at the blanket that covered her knees. “Well. Good. I meant to bring you a tray but I got caught up in stellar cartography.”

Their awkwardness had started to fade with their trivial conversation, but B’Elanna tensed again at the mention of Megan Delaney’s department. The last time she’d checked the chronometer it was past nineteen hundred, and that was at least an hour ago. He’d spent all day with Megan. And most of the evening. Hurt punched her in the gut. She knew they’d dated, back when Voyager had first been pulled into the Delta Quadrant, but it hadn’t lasted long according to the gossip, and their split had been amicable. But maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe it had been Meg’s idea, and Tom had regretted letting her go. Had been wanting Meg back for the last three years. While he’d been passing the time flirting with her… 

It should have made her angry, but it didn’t. It just made her sad. Her lower lip quivered, and she bit down to still it. 

“The long-range sensors are still working and there’s a class 9 nebula coming up, if we ever get moving again.” His smile was sheepish. “We were busy plotting a few ways around it.”

He was looming over her, and she had to crane her neck to look him in the face. She sat up and swung her feet off the couch. The blanket pulled, exposing her bare legs and feet. “Sit down, Tom.”

He hesitated, then did so, then surprised her by bending and grasping her under the knees and swinging her legs onto his lap. His hands were warm and dry on her skin, chilled from their exposure to the cool cabin air. He smoothed the blanket back over her legs. 

“Lie back,” he said. She did, resuming her position reclining against the pillows piled against the arm of the sofa.

“Then I had a meeting with the captain and Chakotay,” Tom continued, “about whether we want to go around the nebula or go through.”

“Go through? That nebula will be full of neurocine gas. It’s toxic to us and corrosive to the ship’s circuit relays. Do you have any idea how much damage it could do if it got inside the ship?” 

She’d sat upright again, her heels and calves tightening against Tom’s thighs. He put a hand on her knee, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the blanket. 

“We’ll be fine if the shields are working.”

“And if they aren’t?”

“Then we’ll have to hope that the ventilation system can keep up.” He grinned. “Doesn’t matter. We aren’t going anywhere right now anyway.”

“Still no thrusters?” 

“Nope.”

She sighed and shifted, wanting to get up and DO something. 

“What are you reading?” Tom gestured to the PADD on her lap. 

“Umm…”

“I’m going to guess it’s not a status report or you wouldn’t have asked about the thrusters.” 

His eyes twinkled as he teased her. Well, wasn't he so very _logical_. Her hand flapped on the PADD and she flipped it so the screen rested against her belly. “Just one of the novels you downloaded for me. Thanks, by the way. For that. I would have gone stir crazy with nothing to do withou—”

“Which one?” He was grinning again.

“Ah, just a… the…”

Tom snatched the PADD away from her and thumbed it on. He began to read aloud: _‘He intended to build a life with this woman. To share everything that he had, everything that he was, with her alone. If he were lucky, their passion would last seventy years. His species was not as long lived as hers, a lifespan that he had once envied. But what price long life without passion and emotion to fill it, to enrich it? He would win this woman. Without her his life no longer held any meaning. Any joy. He wanted her by his side every day for the rest of his life, no matter how long or short that was. In his bed each night. He ached to hold her, to kiss her, to discover the secrets—”_

B’Elanna ripped the PADD from his hands and chucked it on the coffee table. It hit the mess tray with a _clang_. “That’s a very bad habit you have,” she grumped. 

“That didn’t sound like that book about alien physiology. Though I suppose it might be a chapter I didn’t get to.” He tilted his head and looked pensive for a moment, then grinned again, obviously enjoying her embarrassment. 

Her cheeks burned, and she knew she was blushing. She wanted to smack him, but she wanted to laugh too. Hell with it. “It’s the Vulcan one,” she muttered. 

“ _Clash on the Fire Planes_?” He was still teasing her. 

She jerked her legs in his lap. It wasn’t a kick, but it would have to do. “ _Vulcan Love Slave_ ,” she confessed. “But it’s actually not as ‘escapist’ you might think. The main character has to deal with inner conflict: does she follow what’s in her heart and live the life she actually wants, or does she do what she’s been told, without questioning the belief system she’s been raised in?”

“Sounds complicated,” Tom said.

“Well, actually, it is. I mean, the premise sounds stupid, but it can apply to anyone. You’re raised to believe certain things are true, that there’s only one way that’s right and noble. Duty and honour. But then you have new experiences and you can’t help questioning what you’ve believed all your life. You start to wonder if you should follow a different path.”

Tom’s hand tightened on her calf. “What happened to make her question what she was taught?”

“Well, T’epena is a young Vulcan, and she hasn’t mastered her emotions yet. And her fiancé makes this risky business deal—”

“Vulcans run businesses? Think they manufacture self-sealing stem bolts?” 

“Someone does. Do you want to hear—”

“Yes.” He has the grace to look chagrined. “Go on.”

“So, he makes this deal with the hero and he has to put up T’epena as collateral for a loan because he doesn’t have enough credits. She’s worth five thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum.”

“I wouldn’t let you go for a bar under six thousand.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “You see, he thought he could cheat the hero. If the deal—”

“Vulcans cheat?!” He looked scandalized.

“If the deal falls through, slavery is illegal so there’s no way he’d have pay up and hand her over.”

“Of course.” Tom nodded sagely. 

“He thought he’d planned it so logically, see? But S’Tuund didn’t count on the hero kidnapping her in payment for his debt.” 

“Stuned?” Tom’s eyebrow rose. “Like with a phaser?”

B’Elanna paused in her description, then snorted a laugh. She hadn’t put it together. The novel was full of schlocky little jokes like that. “Yeah. I guess so. And the hero, he isn’t named by the way, doesn’t count on falling…” 

She paused. Suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. She and Tom were close together on the couch, her bottom snugged against his thigh, her legs in his lap. His hand was still holding her calf, and his other arm was stretched out along the back of the sofa, his fingers centimetres from her shoulder. She felt the heat of his body on her bare legs, and through the thin fabric of her underwear.

Tom studied her a moment, then smiled just slightly. “Doesn’t count on falling in love her and then having to convince her to forget everything she’s been taught about emotions and allow herself to love him back,” he finished. 

“You’ve read it?” Her voice sounded breathy. She felt winded, out of breath, and her heart was hammering in her chest. 

“Yeah,” Tom confessed. “I would never recommend a book I haven’t read.”

She frowned, and narrowed her eyes at him. “And you let me go on and on about it?” She stiffened and sat straighter. She felt like an idiot. Again. Tom’s hand tightened on her leg. 

“I’m glad you're enjoying it, B’Elanna. That it resonates with you.” His hand slid up her thigh to her waist. “I wasn’t trying to trick you or make fun of you, I swear.” 

He was so close, she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Her legs automatically tightened over his. His fingers dug into her waist. “Has he kissed her yet?” 

His voice was low, husky, and her body clenched in response. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve read it.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Not… Only her cheek, her throat.” B’Elanna swallowed. Her stomach contracted, the muscles tensing. She pressed her thighs together, pressed them against his leg. 

Tom was staring into her eyes, just centimetres away. “Like this?” he asked. He bent his head and moved toward her brushing his nose along her cheek, up her cheekbone to her temple. His warm breath stirred the hair near her ear, and his evening stubble scratched her chin. 

Her breath hitched, and her fingers bunched in the fabric of his uniform jacket. He placed light kisses on her ear, her cheek, her jaw. She felt electrified, her skin sparking where his lips touched her. She angled her head, lifting her chin and giving him access to her throat. He was being gentle, but she could feel the tension in his body. His breath rasped in her ear, making her shiver. He nudged aside the collar of her blue tee shirt—the shirt he’d worn to bed last night—and kissed her shoulder muscle, scraped his teeth on her skin. 

“Tom...”

He looked at her again, and she felt like she was falling into those gorgeous eyes, like she was the heroine of some silly romance novel. She leaned forward and kissed him. 

His lips were soft on hers, gentle, exploring. They brushed against hers with the slightest of pressure then retreated. She followed straightening her back and pressing her breasts against his chest. His arms came around her as he kissed her again, harder this time, as he pulled her onto his lap. 

She had become T’epena: recording sensation, concentrating on the texture of his hair under her fingers, the strength in his shoulders and upper arms, the heat that rolled off his body, warming her. The moist softness of his lips on hers, his prickly beard scraping her chin sending jolts of pleasure and pain through her jaw to the back of her neck. The way her body had come alive, reigniting a need that she hadn’t felt for a long time. Warmth bloomed in her belly, uncurling like the petals of a flower bud, seeking him, pulling her toward him. 

His hand was on her back smoothing the fabric of the shirt, following her spine, slipping under the shirt’s hem, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. His thumb rested on her ribs, moving in little circles. He broke from her mouth, and she gulped a breath as he kissed a path back up her face: nose, cheek, eyelid. His mouth hovered over her ridges, and he puffed a warm breath across her forehead. She shuddered and leaned into him, loving the light caress of his lips on her skin as he kissed each ridge in turn, the hot tip of his tongue exploring the hollows between them. His thumb brushed her spinal ridges and she jumped as a frisson close to pain shot up her spine. She shuddered. He froze and pulled away slightly to stare into her eyes. 

“Are you—”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “They’re just sensitive and I don’t really like…”

He was smiling at her, with a sexy, sultry look in his eyes that made her pant a breath. He kissed her again, swallowing her, pressing his palm firmly over her lower back, slowly moving it up and down, exploring the contours of her spine. 

“Okay?” he asked.

Her eyes had closed, but she opened them now as she pushed against his chest. He let her go immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I didn’t mean to—”

She leaned over and kissed him hard and quick, then gripped his jacket’s fastener and pulled it down. She shoved it off his shoulders. “Take off your damn uniform, Tom,” she ordered. 

He looked stunned for a moment, then he laughed and shrugged out of the jacket. She shoved his turtleneck up his chest, then rose up and straddled him as she helped him pull it over his head. His undershirt was next, then she braced her hands on his shoulders and spread her fingers on his hot skin. 

Sensation. She loved the texture of his skin, the surprising softness, the give of his flesh stretched over firm muscle. He was pale against her hands, the contrast of their skin tones surprisingly erotic. She looked her fill: a generous dusting of red-gold chest hair, prickly on her palms, his small, pale pink nipples, beaded into hard pebbles. She brushed one with a fingertip and he hissed. She glanced up at him, and noted the intent way he was watching her, the tension in his jaw, then she bent her head and licked his left nipple. He gasped, and his fingers dug into her waist. 

She chuckled, low and breathy, and happiness bubbled inside her. She buried her nose in his chest and inhaled him, tasted him with her tongue, planted kisses on his pecs and along his collarbone. He groaned her name and she felt his fingers in her hair tugging her head up to kiss her again, harder this time, hot and possessive. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him like a desert flower, parched and seeking moisture. 

His tongue slid along hers, traced her teeth, touched the inside of her cheek, and she shuddered. She’d never… not like this. Nothing had ever felt like this before. She would drown in him. 

He left her mouth, kissed her jaw, under her ear. His hands ran up her sides and she shivered. “You're wearing my shirt.” His words were a soft chuckle in her ear. 

She drew back and looked at him, confused. “All the clothes here are yours, except for my uniform. Does it bother you?”

“Yes.” His lips lifted in a tiny smile. “Take it off.”

She barked a laugh, delighted by his playfulness, by _him_ , then she reached down and drew the shirt up and over her head. He was watching her, and his eyes landed on her breasts. He lifted a hand and traced her bra strap with a finger. She had rinsed it yesterday in his bathroom sink, reminding her of her months in the Maquis when, sometimes, she would have to wash herself and her clothing in water or go dirty. Tom hadn’t said a word about it hanging on the hook beside the bathroom door as it dried.

His finger strayed to the lace edge of the cup, following the curve of her breast, half on the fabric, half on her skin. Her nipples were hard, erect, pushing against the silk. She was panting from excitement, anticipation, and she wanted to rip off the flimsy piece of clothing and press her breasts against his chest, feel his hands on them, his mouth. He gripped her hips and lifted her up onto her knees, then closed his lips around a nipple and sucked on it through the thin cloth. She felt it deep in her belly, a quiver in her groin, her internal muscles contracting sending ripples of light and longing through her. 

He moved to the other breast and nipped it, and she bucked at the sweet zing that shot to her lower back. He grinned up at her, then placed warm kisses on her breasts and chest, working his way up to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her bra was damp, the cloth rapidly cooling, and her nipples ached with it. 

Not enough. Not nearly enough. She pushed his head away from her chest, climbed off his lap and stood, taking his hand and pulling him up with her. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt like they were about to buckle. He reached for her again, but she was tugging on the fastening of his pants, opening them, shoving them down his hips. His erection was an enticing bulge in his shorts. She cupped him, ran her fingers over him and squeezed, and he hissed. 

They kissed again hungrily, his hands in her hair anchoring her to him. She fitted her body to his dragging her cloth covered nipples across his chest, pressing her belly against his erection. She needed more. 

She pushed away from him again and reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, then stripped it off and let it fall. Stepped out of her—his—briefs and stood naked before him. Tom’s eyes glowed as he stared at her. She stepped into him, pressing her breasts against his chest, burrowing her nose into his shoulder. His arms came around her, his hands gliding over her back and shoulders, following her spine to cup her bottom. 

She explored him, too. She traced his back: shoulder blades, ribcage, the dip of his lower spine. Her hands encountered cloth and she hooked her thumbs into his briefs and shoved them and his pants down his hips. He kicked off his boots, and she pushed him hard, and Tom fell backward onto the couch. “Hey!” She crouched in front of him and whipped his pants down his legs and over his ankles. 

He laughed and reached for her. She came, happily, laughing with him. 

She straddled him, rising up a little, sliding her folds along his hard length, pressing her belly to his. Her nipples dragged through his chest hair, her nose again pressed to his throat catching his scent, stronger now with his arousal. It had been too long since she’d done this, years. She wanted him, always had, she just hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she needed him. 

She needed him now. 

She took him in her hand, stroked him and gripped him as she rose up and positioned him at her opening. Nownownow, her brain insisted. She slid onto his tip, waited a moment to make it last just a bit longer. 

“God, B’Elanna,” Tom sighed. His hands were on her hips, her thighs, he kissed a path along her shoulder and up her neck. “I have a perfectly good bed.”

She smiled. “I’ve been in bed for the last two days.” She lowered herself onto him, pleasure almost like pain fluttering within her. She gasped, shuddered as he filled her. He felt so good. So good.

“So good,” Tom murmured, his mouth on her throat, kissing her and sucking on her skin. 

She kissed him again, his mouth hers now, hot and moist, and his fingers gripped her hips as he thrust up into her. She gasped and clung to him, her belly convulsing, her thighs shaking. He withdrew a little, and her hands clutched at his shoulders, she was about to protest, then he thrust into her again harder than before. Her head swam.

She was pure sensation now, reaction. His hot palms pressing on her hip bones, calloused fingertips on her skin making her shiver. His breath, hot and moist at her temple, her ear, stirring her hair. The delicious scrape of his beard on her jaw, his chest hair rubbing her breasts. Her nipples had contracted to hard points, aching, wanting something just out of reach. 

She kissed his cheek, his hair, his nose. Felt his hand in her hair, pulling, holding her head steady as he kissed her thoroughly. Their hips didn’t lose their rhythm, bucking, thrusting, slamming into each other, until her breath came in shallow gasps, her heart hammering in her ears, sweat prickling on her shoulders and chest and thighs. 

His teeth grazed her throat and he nipped her shoulder, and the shock of it, the primal thrill made her convulse. Pleasure grew in her belly, blooming, radiating outward, shimmering light along her skin, and as her eyes closed she cried out and her body jerked and shuddered. 

Tom’s hands gripped her with bruising strength, one on her shoulder, one on her hip. He groaned and bucked into her so hard he lifted them from couch, his legs straightening as his heels dug into the carpet. He froze, his body shaking as he held her tightly. A moment later he collapsed back onto the couch, panting, his hand spasming on her lower back. His fingers brushed her spinal ridges, and she shuddered again. Her body was still sparking with little flashes of pleasure. 

Gradually, she became aware of the couch cushions under her shins, Tom’s strong thighs between her own, the prickle of his leg hair, and the sweat rapidly cooling on her skin. Her forehead was braced against his, their breath mingling. She felt his lashes against her eyelids as he turned his head slightly to kiss her nose, her cheek. She straightened just enough to stare at him. There was wonder in his eyes. 

“I guess you’re feeling better?” he joked.

She chuckled. She’d never felt better. “You tell me; you’re the trained medic.”

“Mmm…” Tom traced the curve of her shoulder, squeezed her biceps gently, moved his hand and brushed his thumb over her nipple. “You feel good to me.”

“Just _good_?”

“Perfect.” He stole a kiss. “Very healthy. Robust, even.” His eyes twinkled with laughter.

He was softening inside her, and she must be heavy on his lap. She eased herself off of him and stood. Her legs felt a little shaky. He was holding her hand, smiling at her, and she was just about to give it a little tug when his combadge chirped. “ _Kim to Paris._ ” 

B’Elanna jerked in surprise, and was suddenly very aware that she was naked. She found the tee shirt and pulled it on as Tom grabbed his uniform. His hand strayed under the hem of her shirt, caressing her hip and belly. She leaned into him. 

“ _I thought you’d want to know that life support has been restored to decks eight and nine so B’Elanna can go back to her own quarters. You can have your place to yourself again_.” Harry said.

Tom stared at, his expression suddenly neutral, as if he was afraid Harry could see them. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll let her know.” 

“Well,” she said. “I guess I’ll go pack. It shouldn’t take long; I didn’t bring anything.” Her voice sounded a little strangled and she was sure her smile looked more like a grimace. 

“You don’t have to go tonight,” Tom said. “In fact, I don’t mind if you stay a little longer. I liked having you in my bed.” 

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He stood and took a step toward her. He ran his hand down her arm, cupped her breast, squeezed.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders and arms, and she marvelled at the strength there. “You didn’t act like it.” She stretched up and kissed him again. 

“You were sick, B’Elanna! Hell, you probably still are. The Doc will probably take my certification away if he found out what I just did.”

Her lips twisted in a smile. “Don’t you mean what _we just did_?” 

He kissed her again and pulled her closer. “Wanna do it again sometime?” he whispered in her ear. She shivered.

“Yes.”


	7. Tom

She’d lead him back to the bedroom, and she’d eyed the bed with an expectant gleam in her eye. He was definitely going to make love to her again, take full advantage of the soft mattress and cool sheets, but he had another idea. The sonic shower hadn’t gotten any larger since one? two? nights ago, but that just made it better. 

They’d explored each other again, touching, kissing, nipping soft skin. There was something about her that brought out the, well, latent Klingon in him. He wanted to scrape his teeth across her jaw, nip her, mark her. He remembered Sakari, the heat of her, that sultry look in her eyes and how he thought he’d die if he couldn’t have her, couldn’t feel her soft, smooth flesh under his hands. Couldn’t sink into her and make her his, if only for a few moments.

The sonic waves had swirled around them, heightening his senses this time instead of relaxing him. He’d worshiped her breasts, her mouth, the sweet curve of her waist and hips. He got on his knees before her and explored her soft folds with his tongue and fingers until she’d cried out, then he’d spun her around so he could do the same with her enchanting spinal ridges and the sweet, firm globes of her bottom. 

She’d tried to reciprocate, but he was too close, too on the edge, so he’d picked her up and carried her to his bed instead. He hadn’t lasted long after he’d slid inside her, had embarrassed himself, really, but she was right behind him. 

Her gentle breathing lulled him. The scent of her hair, the soft warmth of her body stretched out against his relaxed him. His arms were around her, her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and he was asleep before he even realized that he was nodding off. 

*

It was the cold that woke him, dragging him out of a dreamless sleep. His shoulders and arms were chilled, and Tom groped for the blanket. He dragged a slow, deep breath of air into his lungs and smiled, then turned his head to look at B’Elanna. She wasn’t there. The covers were folded back, and her side of the bed was empty. He frowned and started to rise when she came out of the bathroom. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. I thought, maybe, you’d…” 

“Oh. Um.” She looked toward his closet, at his chair. “If you want me to go bac—”

“No.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it in his. “No, I don’t.”

She smiled at him, and he relaxed. He was afraid she’d left, had snuck out while he was asleep and gone back to her own, newly oxygenated quarters. He wasn’t sure what they’d started last night, but he wasn’t about to let her pretend it hadn’t happened. “Come back to bed.”

She grinned then, and instead of walking around the bed she put a knee on the mattress and began to climb over him. He grabbed her by the hips and kept her there. There was only the sheet between them, and he was already starting to get hard from her weight on his groin. She leaned down to kiss him, and the deep vee neckline of her shirt gaped open. He could see all the way down, and he admired her breasts. 

He lunged at her, nuzzling her throat and shoulder, nipping the sweet hollow under her ear and dragging his morning stubble across her skin. She squealed and convulsed. He tensed, then grabbed her by the ribs and flipped her onto her back. She shrieked and pulled him closer, and he kissed her slow and sweet, exploring the softness of her lush mouth until she moaned and her body rose to press against his. 

Tom slid a hand under her shirt, _his shirt_ , and a fierce, primal, possessive tenderness washed over him. His, right now, in this one perfect moment, she was his. “B’Elanna, I—”

Her stomach growled, a long, drawn-out complaint that left them both laughing. “Hungry?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” she confessed. “Do you think your replicator is working again?”

Probably not. Tom flopped onto his back. “Computer,” he called to the ceiling, “is the replicator in my quarters online?”

::All replicators except in ship’s galley are offline::

“Is it too early for breakfast? Think Neelix is up?” B’Elanna asked.

Tom shrugged. “Computer, what’s the time?”

::The time is oh five hundred hours sixteen minutes::

B’Elanna’s expression morphed into a devious grin. “I wonder if Tuvok set up a guard around the replicator in the mess?”

“I would have. I guess we could shower, get ready for shift. You’re in engineering this morning?”

“For a few hours, yes.”

“Well, take it easy,” Tom cautioned. “No crawling around Jefferie’s tubes. And take a nap if you’re tired. You might feel better right now, but this virus can come back and bite you.”

“Yes, doctor.” She rolled her eyes. 

Her stomach rumbled again and Tom grinned, then he noticed a little covered pot on her bedside table. The chocolate mousse! He kissed her again as he leaned over her, and grabbed it and the spoon. 

“Dessert for breakfast?” he offered. 

Her eyes lit up when she saw it. She sat up and took it from him. “Do you think it’s still good?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s sealed.”

She popped the lid off and dug out a spoonful, and he watched as her full lips closed around the spoon, watched her eyes flutter closed. Her low, appreciative moan did funny things to his stomach. “This is soooo good.” It couldn’t be better than watching her eat it, he thought.

She opened her eyes and spooned out another portion then looked at him. “Do you want a taste?”

Did he ever. Though maybe not a taste of the pudding. She poked the spoon toward him, and he closed his hand around hers as he sampled the dessert. “Delicious,” he agreed, then he kissed her again, just because he wanted to. She tasted of chocolate, heady and rich. Definitely delicious. “Are you offering to share?” he asked.

She stared at him a moment, then her mouth stretched in a slow, sexy grin. She handed him the pot, and he was about to take another bite when she pulled the tee shirt over her head and lay back down. She plucked the pot out of his hand, and dropped a dollop of the mousse onto her chest, then smeared some on her left nipple. Her smile was downright wicked. 

“Want another taste?” 

Tom smiled. Dessert for breakfast was getting better and better.

*

“My sheets are a mess.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “You might have to stay at my place tonight. If you want to. Or there’s always your couch.”

His mouth lifted in a smile. “We’re a mess, too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. She slid one hand over his sticky chest. Squeezed his equally sticky butt cheek with the other. Her nose was buried in his throat, and she nipped his earlobe. “Maybe we should have a shower.” 

Tom kissed her again, just because he wanted to.


	8. Epilogue: Tom

He was tired but that didn’t come as a surprise considering how little sleep he had during the last week. B’Elanna had moved back into her quarters, but that hadn’t stopped them from spending their evenings together, and most of their nights. He’d left her quarters a little after oh three hundred this morning, grabbed a few hours sleep in his lonely bed, then dragged his sluggish ass into the shower. It wasn’t as much fun alone. His eyes felt gritty, and he was having trouble focusing, but he figured it was nothing that a couple of cups of Neelix’ _Delta Dee~lite_ wouldn’t solve. 

Tom had claimed a table near the viewport, and he was doing his best to keep up with his friend’s steady stream of chatter as Harry recounted the trials and tribulations of ship’s operations during the crises that had plagued them during the last week. He was finding it hard to concentrate though. Harry hadn’t mentioned the ship’s ventilation system, but Tom was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with life support. It was too warm in the mess. 

“What are you two discussing so seriously?” B’Elanna set her breakfast tray on the table and slid into the seat opposite Tom. She smiled at him and he smiled warmly back. 

“What’s your best guess on the timing for the rear deflector array, Maquis?”

Tom noticed B’Elanna’s eyes sparkle at the nickname. He’d envied them that once but now he didn’t mind. He liked that they were close, the three of them against the Delta Quadrant. 

“Well, Starfleet, I’ve put Vorik and Chapman on it, and Vorik swore to me that he’d have the initial calibration finished by thirteen hundred, and we know that Vulcans always keep their word when they make a deal.” Her eyes slid to Tom, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. 

She was absolutely gorgeous, he thought. Stunning. He was one lucky bastard and he knew it. His eyes watered and he sneezed, a huge forceful _chuuuf!_ that silenced them both and made them turn their heads to stare at him. 

“Too much ground _scree’lash_ leaves on your _splect_ , Tom?” Harry asked.

B’Elanna just smirked at him, her nose wrinkling adorably. Stars streaked by behind her, blurring and wavering, seeming to form a halo around her head. Well, it was fitting: she was an angel. Maybe not an angel, but her beauty was angelic. Why was his angel frowning at him? She should never be upset. He decided that he would make it his life’s purpose to please her… 

“Tom?”

Funny, maybe there was something wrong with life support: her voice sounded muffled, like she was speaking underwater… 

“Tom, are you okay?”

He smiled at her again. “’mm juss…” The room spun, and he was falling. Falling for her, he thought, had already fallen. But he didn’t think he should actually _feel_ like he was falling…? 

He landed face-first in his _talsa_ root omelette.

***

“Doctor, he’s waking up.”

Kes’ pretty face swam into focus as Tom blinked open his eyes. It was too bright, and he closed them again. He tried again, slitting his eyes and peering around through his lashes. 

“Where am I?” It came out like a croak; his throat was parched and sore.

“We’re in sickbay, Tom.” 

He frowned. “Are you alright?”

She smiled at him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, Mister Paris, welcome back.” 

The Doctor appeared at Tom’s side and started scanning him, running the wand of the tricorder around his head then down his chest, which Tom just now realized felt heavy. The hum of the wand and the beeping of the tricorder were too loud. Tom closed his eyes and decided that he felt like crap. He ached all over, even his hands ached, even his hair ached. He sneezed suddenly and felt like weeping. “Ow,” he moaned.

“Yes, I would think so,” the Doctor said.

“Did something happen?” Tom mumbled.

“Something? I suppose so. If you want to look at it that way, something is happening right now.”

Tom groaned and closed his eyes. 

“Here, this should help.”

Tom felt the cold pressure of a hypospray against his neck. The _hiss_ was comforting, and he felt immediate relief. He sighed. “What happened?” He remembered B’Elanna, and the mess hall, breakfast, and not much else.

“You lost consciousness in the mess hall this morning,” Kes said.

“What?” A little jolt of adrenaline shot through him at the news.

“In a word, you fainted,” the Doctor said.

“I don’t faint,” Tom scoffed. 

“Of course not.”

“Why?” Had Neelix’ cooking finally done him in?

“Well, I had the opportunity to run a few tests while you were napping. It seems that you’ve caught that virus again.”

“But…” Tom was confused. “But you said once we caught it, we’d be immune.”

“With the original form of the virus, yes. But it appears to have mutated. I’m still running tests, but it appears that while Lieutenant Torres Klingon genes protected her from the brunt of the symptoms, they also changed the sequence of the virus’ genome.”

Tom frowned. 

“It mutated and you caught it from her.” The Doctor looked up from the display on the tricorder and peered at him. 

“I… what?”

The Doctor picked up a PADD and tapped a few commands. “The odd thing is, in its original form, the virus was transmitted through the air. Just being in a room with someone who had caught it meant you were exposed. But it’s changed. Now you need to be in direct contact with a carrier. It’s only transmissible through bodily secretions.”

“Secretions?” Tom’s eyes went round.

“Sweat, saliva. Vomit, I suppose. Did you and B’Elanna drink from the same cup while you were looking after her? Share cutlery?”

“There… there was the pudding.”

“Pudding?” The Doctor’s eyebrow rose inquisitively.

“Jabalian chocolate fudge mousse,” Tom elaborated. “She, um, let me try some. There was only one spoon.”

“Well, that wasn’t very smart, was it?” the Doctor chided.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The doc _harrumphed_. “Rest,” he said as he walked away.

Tom heard the sickbay doors open, then felt a hand on his forehead a moment later. He opened his eyes. B’Elanna was smiling down at him. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better now.” He flapped his hand and she caught it and gave it a squeeze. Her fingers were cool and dry on his. 

“I heard I got you sick again. Sorry.” She wore a sheepish expression.

“It was worth it.” He smiled at her and fought the urge to snuffle. He felt another sneeze coming on.

“As soon as Kes is finished setting up an experiment for me, she’ll escort you to your quarters.”

The Doctor had returned.

“I’ll take him,” B’Elanna offered. She squeezed his hand again.

“Fine. You’re off duty for the next three day, Mister Paris. Either Kes or I will look in on you later.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll need looking after if you want to knock this virus out of your system once and for all,”

the Doctor cautioned.

“Harry and I will look after him.” B’Elanna smiled at Tom again and he felt a little breathless.

“Alright. But I want you take it easy. Drink plenty of fluids, and rest. And don’t forget to eat, even if you’re not hungry. Without proper nutrition it will take longer for you to recover. I’ll send a list of acceptable selections to Neelix.”

“What about dessert?” Tom asked.

“Dessert?” The Doctor sounded affronted by the very idea. “It’s that chocolate mousse that likely got you into this mess!”

B’Elanna’s eyes went round. “I told him we had to share the spoon,” Tom explained. 

“It was pretty messy,” she whispered. 

He grinned. 

“Ready to go?” she asked.

He was ready ten minutes ago. He scooted off the biobed with B’Elanna’s help, then draped his arm over her shoulders. Really, after the analgesic and antipyretic the Doc just gave him, Tom felt well enough to stand on his own two feet. But he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of B’Elanna’s arm around him.

They walked into the corridor together, and she leaned into him, her nose brushed his jaw as she angled her head and murmured into his ear, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Tom smiled again. They couldn’t get there fast enough. 

*****


End file.
